The cursed chair

Isabella trembled as cold, night air blew in from the windows. But she couldn’t just close them, if she did she surely wouldn’t be able to see or hear when her husband was approaching. He was late, he should have been back hours ago.

However he wasn’t back, and as the night drew on Isabella feared he might have died out on the moor. The candles had almost burnt out when the door heaved open. Isabella jolted at the sound, she’d fallen asleep on the lounge.

Bleary eyed she propped herself up and looked to see who was coming in, relieved to see her husband. But as her husband mumbled a greeting and went to recline into his armchair she couldn’t help but feel slightly ill at ease.